Chekov's Behind the Scenes
by ThisiswhereIputmystories
Summary: There wasn't much of Chekov in Into Darkness, so I decided to delve into what was going on for him after Kirk did that thing that Kirk did (I'm trying not to give it away!). Evidently contains spoilers for Into Darkness and Chekov being his adorable self.
1. Chapter 1

** I just saw Into Darkness and was slightly disappointed about the movie's lack of Chekov- I feel like he only got five minutes of screen time altogether! I've decided to remedy this with this fanfic, as a sort of explanation of what happened behind the scenes at the end, when Kirk and Spock were being emotional (THE ACTING! GOOD GOD, DID THEY THINK I COULD HANDLE THAT? I'M A WRITER, NOT A VULCAN!).**

**I do not own Star Trek. To make that presumption would not be logical. Also, please just imagine the accent. **

Chekov slumped to the ground, letting his chin fall onto his chest for a moment as his ragged breaths dragged on in-between screams and the blares of sirens. He had done it, he had flicked the switch. Was breathing always this hard? In, out, repeat, in, out, repeat. He was in a nice little bubble all alone, and nobody was dying.

The Enterprise jerked around again, the entire ship groaning as it spun through the atmosphere. He spun around, scrambling to find anything to grasp onto. He slid down to the left, and then into the air, hands clasped around the handle of the console he had just opened. Cold blood flushed through him and left as soon as it had come, leaving his fingertips warm and loose. Maybe he couldn't hold on. Maybe he could just let go for a second and let his hands-

The ship righted itself. Chekov stumbled as he stood, shakily supporting his legs by leaning against the controls. Okay. He was fine. He hadn't just almost died.

One step away, down the maze of walkways, pretending that he wasn't struggling to stay upright, imagining he wasn't being constantly thrown against the railings. After a distance he looked up, up at the straining pipes and numerous railings, because he didn't want to see the dead bodies. He wasn't sure if he could keep walking if he did.

Right on cue, he stumbled over a dead body, catching himself and staring right into the woman's face. She couldn't have been all that much older than he was, maybe in her early twenties. Her blood was hardly noticeable against her red uniform.

He didn't make a sound, almost worried that he would wake her and bring her back to the chaos. This hadn't come up in his training. What do you do for the dead?

Righting himself, he found the woman's closed eyes, and nodded at her, raising his hand into a Vulcan salute, just like Spock did.

Then he continued to walk on towards the direction that Scotty and Kirk had headed in, stopping at a blinking screen to figure out what was going on. He watched for a few minutes, feeling like he was only viewing a documentary of some ancient tragedy. The ship's coordinates rapidly changed, altitude dropping and dropping. For a moment he thought he could fix it- he could solve everything! Bringing up a different screen, he entered a few codes to get to the right control software.

He overrode a few locks before reaching the screen he had been expecting: ACCESS DISABLED DUE TO SYSTEMS FAILURE. Naturally. He was just Chekov- he couldn't save anyone.

And then he was walking and crying at the same time, to find the captain and whoever else was better than him at dying gracefully.

Yet he didn't die, because something changed: the Enterprise stopped rocking back and forth, the falling stopped screaming, and lights and machinery came to life. The exact opposite of the people.

And he wasn't dead- therefore, none of his crew could be dead.

"CAPTAIN! MR. SCOTT!" He hollered, lurching forward and flying down the walkway, skimming down a flight of stairs.

His eyes caught onto the sight of Scotty, and for a moment everything was perfect. Everyone had to be fine. His smile reappeared while he took the stairs, three at a time until he tripped, then just two.

"Mr. Scott, we've-" He began to say, ignoring the way his breathing was getting in the way of his words like his hair was getting in the way of his eyes.

"Chekov."

"Where's Captain?" Chekov tilted his head, looking up at Scotty. Why was he staring?

"I want you to stay right here, alright? Sit down, breathe."

"Where's the captain?" He was quieter this time.

Scotty didn't respond and waved at a bench in front of the nearest console.

"Where is he? Where? What's wrong?"

"Sit down."

And then he knew exactly what "sit down" meant. "Captain!"

Chekov didn't sit down. Spock sailed past him, Scotty stepping aside to let him through without a word. His mind set to work: someone had to have entered the main engines to have repaired the power. The radiation would have killed them.

Kirk was gone.

"Let me through!"

"Ach! No!"

"Nyet!" Chekov shook his head at his accidental Russian. "Please."

They both fell silent while they listened to Spock talking to the captain, his voice a low rumble.

Scotty placed a hand on Chekov's shoulder. "Let them be. You don't need to see this." He sat down, leaning against the wall, and pulled the boy down next to him.

Chekov stared ahead.

Spock talked to Kirk.

Scotty sighed. Seventeen was too young for this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much to everybody for the enthusiastic response! I don't think I've ever gotten such a positive reaction to anything I've written, especially a fanfiction. Thanks again for reading it. This next chapter is a continuation of the last one, but I'd be willing to do some more. I'd love it if I could have some recommendations of places in the movie where I could fit a chapter, since I'm sort of blanking one places where I could have Chekov do things. **

**To Paige76170: ** **I have mixed feelings about this. As someone who is used to taking advanced classes, I feel like I have a responsibility to defend younger people who are ahead academically- because, for the most part, most of us are taking courses meant for older people because we are ready. However, when it comes to entering the workforce… I'm not quite sure. I personally believe that it must be hard to be an adult like people are expected to be, and I think that Chekov would have trouble with taking care of himself at first, just as anybody would. But I suppose that you just grow to handle the emotional difficulties of the job with exposure.**

**I don't own Star Trek, etc. etc. etc.**

A few minutes had passed since Spock had looked away from Kirk- from Kirk's empty body.

"Spock, stand back, ye can't go in there yet." Scotty tugged at Spock's sleeve, stumbling backwards as the Vulcan yanked his arm away.

"I'm simply-" He didn't finish his statement.

"I'm clearing out the radiation now, you'll just have tah wait a minute." Scotty's brogue did little to hide the slight trembling in his voice. Spock's eyes were still aimed directly at the ground, his hands shaking. It wasn't right.

Chekov had crawled up after Scotty had stood up to keep Spock from opening the glass door, glancing around the corner.

That was the captain.

His captain, behind the glass, absolutely and exponentially gone.

The two men and the boy were silent for a few more minutes. Scotty kept his eyes trained on Spock, arms twitching and ready to hold him back should he try anything, and Spock's were concentrating on the captain, who in return was motionless.

Neither one of them had noticed how Ensign Chekov had passed out, locks of his hair falling in front of his closed eyes in a way that made it appear that he had simply fallen asleep in somewhere he shouldn't have. Perhaps that was what he had done.

Both Scotty and Spock jumped to attention when a wailing alarm beeped to signify that it was safe to enter the room, Scotty only nodding with a brisk "alright" to let Spock know he could retrieve Kirk. The Vulcan immediately stepped forward, slim figure sliding through the narrow doorway and reaching down ever so carefully to slide his hands under his friend and throw him over his shoulder. As he took one step, then another, Scotty looked at his face once: completely void of any emotion. Now it was just a job, a duty to the captain: bring the body to the sickbay.

There was no way of knowing what was going on inside his mind, of knowing what his duty was to his friend.

Scotty secured the glass door. His breath most certainly did not catch in his throat when he noticed the smudges where Kirk and Spock had placed their hands. "Come over here, Ensign, let's see what we can do to get the engines up an' runnin'."

As he turned around he managed not to fear the worst, because this was Ensign Chekov. Chekov was young, spritely, almost irreparably optimistic. People like that surely couldn't be hurt (he knew better, but his mind wasn't working as quickly as it should).

Speaking to himself, Scotty sat down and shook Chekov's shoulder. "You're alright, you're fine, wake up." He repeated the boy's name to no avail. "Your loss. I suppose you're just going to have to go to sickbay.

Scotty lifted the boy into his arms- awfully light, to be honest- and cradled him close. Chekov burrowed his head into Scotty's shoulder in response, mumbling incoherently. "Ahtyets… nyet."

"Let's go, laddie. We're done here."


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, so the reviews are still lovely! Thanks to everyone who has commented as it pleases me immensely. Here's a little fluffy chapter that takes place earlier in the movie as an apology for all the sadness. Sorry (actually not sorry at all, I love this ridiculous power that I wield. I should probably apply for a job at the BBC, I know).**

**Once again, Star Trek is not mine. Also, I'd love suggestions for points in the movie where I could add a scene, as I've only seen it once and am working with what I remember.**

The doors to the bridge cleanly slid open and Chekov stepped into the cool room. It was empty of its normal crew, having been parked at the base for three days while on break from their current mission. Admiral Pike had just called Kirk and Spock in for some questioning.

"Hello?" He called, if only to hear the sound of his own voice in such an abandoned place. After a moment of rocking back on forth on his heels, he commanded the lights to go on and strode towards his usual chair. Having no family in the country, he had spent his time on leave coming up with a few new equations and had snuck aboard to examine his console and see if the software could be adapted for a new tracking equation he had completed.

He stopped as he passed the captain's chair, a foot away from it.

He eyed the cushion, the armrests, the overall glorious air of importance it radiated, and took a step closer, resting his hand on the back.

Nobody was there, after all.

He glanced at the door and collapsed onto the seat, sinking into the cushions and throwing his arms over the side. Oh, that was lovely. It practically conformed to his body. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had heating, or a cup holder- even a massaging back! He loved those.

That wasn't the real reason he had sat down in the chair. No, not at all.

Not even close.

At 14:37, Sulu entered the Enterprise to check some readings he had forgotten to write down and check the coordinates of their last mission. He fumbled around to hit the right button on the lift, deciding that he really should have had a second coffee. He suffering from both a slight hangover and wicked exhaustion from being out late the night before.

He hummed softly to himself while his shoes clicked on the newly polished floors, the right stride slightly louder than the left. While the lights in the hall were dimmed, there seemed to be a faint glow coming from the bridge. Odd. He stepped in front of the door, striding forward as it let him through.

At the center of the room was a blur of arms and legs and a mop of curly hair, all emitting squeals and giggles along with a few yelps in Russian. The chair spun like a centrifuge, its occupant pushing down on the ground every few seconds to speed up the rotation again.

"Ensign- Pavel?" Sulu's brow furrowed.

Chekov turned to see who had entered and flew out of the chair, landing in a heap on the ground.

"Are you-" Sulu stopped as he choked on laughter. "Are you alright?" He managed, just before breaking into a fit of giggles and stooping to give his navigator a hand.

"Nyet, my head is spinning."

"How long have you been in here?"

"What is the time?" Chekov sat up and leaned against the captain's chair as he climbed to his feet, rocking slightly and holding a hand to his head.

"Half past fourteen hours."

"A long time, then."

Sulu shook his head, still grinning slightly. "We need to get you out more."


	4. Chapter 4

**Continued thanks for all of your reviews- thank you for taking the time to write them! I appreciate it. I surprisingly felt the need to write more fluff, although it isn't really that happy- I somehow managed to taint this with sadness too, yay! I believe it takes place sometime before Kirk is awoken/brought back to life/ powered up with magic Cumberbatch glitter/ whatever.**

**After undergoing more testing, the doctors concluded that I still don't own Star Trek.**

"Ensign, do you need anything?"

"Da- medicine?" Chekov kept his eyes directed safely towards the ground, willing his face not to turn red. This seemed to happen every time he had to go to sickbay, no matter how simple a request.

"For your headaches?" Dr. McCoy emerged from his own office, wiping off his hands with a towel and looking up and down the boy.

Chekov nodded. Naturally. He loathed the bothersome things, dreadful migraines that struck him occasionally when he was stressed. He had avoided mentioning them when he applied to Starfleet (which may or may not have been against the rules) and managed to hide the first few from his crew. He hated when people worried over him, and preferred not to have to deal with medicine and talk about how he was hurting when all he wanted to do was curl up and think about something other than the constant throbbing in his head.

Spock had deduced that something was wrong after observing Chekov rubbing his forehead for the better part of an hour while they were on bridge duty, leaning over and whispering something in the captain's ear.

"Ensign Chekov, are you alright?" Kirk had asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I doubt it. You look a bit pale, for one thing, and you keep cringing. You can take a break, if you need."

"No, sir, I am fine."

At the end of his shift, he had managed to clench his fists and keep his eyes shut as he walked out of the bridge, walking slowly in a futile attempt to keep the pulsing in his head out of his thoughts. Thankfully, the captain had waited outside the door for Chekov to exit, leaning against the wall and springing to catch the kid as he fell to the ground.

"I knew you were sick."

Chekov mumbled, relaxing in Kirk's grip and moaning slightly as circles of light threw off his vision.

"Let's get you to sickbay."

Of course, once the captain had actually convinced Chekov to talk to Dr. McCoy, there was the slight problem of medicating the issue: Chekov had been blessed with the lovely reality of having an allergic reaction to hypos, so Dr. McCoy needed to rummage through his supplies to find something more primitive: normal pills.

Now, with the captain- with the captain gone, Chekov had put off going to sickbay until his headaches had reached migraine level, reducing him to a sweating, uncomfortable mess by the time that he found the doctor.

McCoy slid open a drawer and shook a container to estimate the amount of its contents. "Dammit, kid, just take the whole bottle. Two every few hours, come back tomorrow. Do you need someone to walk you back to your quarters?"

"Nyet, I'm okay."

"No, you're not. I'll let you go- only because I need to check on the hobgoblin." McCoy shoved the drawer closed and slipped back into his office while Chekov left, skimming his fingers along the walls of the corridor to help his balance. He wasn't sure what the doctor thought he could do- Spock hadn't left his room since he brought Kirk to sickbay, refusing even Uhura's pleas to come out. He was one of the last people who hadn't left the ship and gone down to the Starfleet base- only some bridge members were still on board, to finish securing the ship and checking on everything.

Chekov jumped slightly when he realized he had reached his quarters, tapping in his authorization code a few times before finally being let in and collapsing onto his bed. Why couldn't he think straight? He wanted to cry and snuggle up next to someone. For all of the teasing he got about being a kid, there were a lot of times when he couldn't just act like one.

After a moment of breathing heavily and blinking at the blankets in front of his face, he pulled himself up and fumbled about until he found the bottle under his pillow. He clumsily spun the lid around, making a few unsuccessful turns before squinting at the lid: _Childproof. To open, press down and twist clockwise. _

He shoved his hand down, spinning it.

No luck, only the sound of plastic grinding together. He pushed harder, twisting the container itself in his hands and shaking it for good measure and mumbling in Russian. Why couldn't he do something so simple? The pills were _right in there_ , teasing him with the promise of relief from his headache- maybe even a bit of sleep!

A minute later, he gave up and chucked the bottle at the wall, glaring as it rolled back to his feet. "Nyet. Stupid medicine. I am not needing you."

The bottle made no response. Chekov leaned over and picked it up, pressing a hand to his forehead as the blood rushed around and flashed more lights in his eyes. He waited until he could stand up straight without feeling dizzy and stumbled out of the room, continuing to shake the bottle and pull off the cap.

After a few more unsuccessful tries, he had resorted to spinning the top counterclockwise, hoping that the directions had been wrong. With a sharp tug, he flew forward and barreled into a tall expanse of arms and legs, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Mr. Spock?" He rolled away as Spock clambered to his knees, steadying himself with a hand on the wall.

"Ensign Chekov, I implore that you please refrain from such distractions in the future and beware of the direction in which you are heading, to prevent further collisions."

"Sorry! Sorry!" He sat up and held his head while another wave of lightheadedness washed over him.

"Are you experiencing more headaches?"

"Da, I-" Chekov grimaced, shuddering as a shiver hit him.

"You require my assistance." Spock automatically leaned over and lifted the boy to his feet, holding onto his shoulders while his knees buckled and letting go once he managed to stay on his feet for a second.

"Much thanks." Chekov glanced up, squinting at the lights of the hallway. Spock was paler than usual (which meant he was literally white) and looked somewhat haggard. His eyes were just a bit off-coloured, his cheeks tinted green.

"I advise that you visit the sickbay."

Chekov nodded, if only because it was closer than his own quarters. "Can- Can you open zhis for me?" He held out the bottle of pills.

Spock raised an eyebrow, but accepted the bottle and twisted the cap, ignoring the boy's wide eyes and impressed smile, shaking out two pills into Chekov's palm.

"Come with me." Chekov pulled at his elbow, tugging him in the direction of the sickbay.

"I had intended to escort you."

"No, Dr. McCoy wanted to see you."

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but paused to steady Chekov as he stumbled, letting the boy lean on his shoulder for the rest of the walk to the sickbay.

Normally, this is what Kirk did.

Chekov thought that Spock was doing well.


End file.
